


Oh, Hello; We're Missing the Rumba

by jesshelga



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Dancing Lessons, Flirting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-14
Updated: 2008-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23883265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesshelga/pseuds/jesshelga
Summary: Summary: Inspired by kopernik after her YouTube-inspired hint and her Christmas wishlist: Andy invites Oscar to take some dancing lessons... which becomes sort of a seduction in three parts.Title courtesy of: One of my favorite parts in The Full Monty, where Tom Wilkinson's character is discovered at dance class. Also, there were two men who found love through dance in that movie. Not to spoil the story for you.
Relationships: Oscar/Andy, The Office - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	Oh, Hello; We're Missing the Rumba

**Author's Note:**

> Circa 5x11 "Moroccan Christmas"

Being asked to dance by the embodiment of misery was new for Oscar.

And he’d been living in Scranton as a gay man for _many_ years.

* * *

  
He stopped by Andy's desk a week after Angela had exited the holiday party with him and reported her infidelity. He’d been so quiet, so sad, so faded that after the third day of observing Andy hadn’t eaten lunch (or slept, from the looks of it), Oscar took it upon himself and brought Andy a lunch.

“It’s just leftovers,” he said when he set it on Andy’s desk.

Andy looked at the Gladware, then at Oscar. In a voice devoid of spark or the sort of mindless enthusiasm Andy was famous for around the office, Andy said, “Thanks.”

“You should eat them. Now. We should go sit in the breakroom now while you eat.”

Andy backed his chair up a bit and looked like he was on the verge of an angry outburst. Oscar remembered the hole that was punched in the office wall—and he wasn’t sure if he was remembering it with fear or fondness.

Andy’s burst of emotion faded almost as quickly as it had begun. He dragged himself out of his chair and trudged to the breakroom.

* * *

  
Over the next week, Oscar provided “leftovers” (though he’d begun to tailor the menu to what he remembered to be Andy’s favorite lunchtime entrees of the past) and called Andy to lunch, and eventually, Andy started to come out of his shell.

One day, there was tears. Particularly awkward, since Stanley picked that time to wander in for his afternoon Pop Tart.

After Andy was done crying into his sleeves, he said, “And I still have these stupid dance lessons for our wedding that I _paid for, of course._ ” The last part was less said than shouted in the general direction of the office. “It’s not like _I_ need lessons. _I'm_ not the one who believes dance is a sin in most settings. My mom forced me to take ballroom dancing for five years.” Andy sighed, seemingly defeated by embarrassments both current and past. “In _high school._ ”

“It might be nice to go. You know, meet new people.”

Andy’s response was a drawn-out “Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft.”

* * *

  
But the next day indicated that Andy had rethought his Pfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffft. He strode over to Oscar’s desk, looked at Angela for a millisecond, then turned to Oscar.

“How would you like to attend free dance lessons, Oscar? With me? Two men. Dancing together.” The last part was pointedly said to his former fiancée.

Oscar looked at Angela, who was bright red with anger, then at Andy.

“Sure.” After all, it would be something like culture. And Andy would probably get tired of it after 20 minutes.

* * *

  
Andy wasn’t kidding: he had taken ballroom for five years. He was good. Great, even. If not a bit ruthless and detached from the whole process.

In their first lesson, taught by a glorious grande dame of the Pennsylvania theater scene named Coco (or so she claimed on the sign of her dance studio), they covered basic swing steps. Oscar had decided to skip that fad, regardless of how great the kids in the Gap ads made it look, but he found it sort of fun so long as he didn’t focus on the stern, joyless expression on his partner’s face.

“Lighten up, my love! It’s _dance!_ ” Coco cooed several times.

If anything, Andy looked grimmer each time she said it.

“Andy, we can…” Oscar snapped back from a spin, “stop anytime.”

“No. I’m having a great time. ‘Get back out there.’ Isn’t that what you said?”

“I was thinking that you’d trade the private less…,” a spin, “…ons in for a singles’ class. Or something.”

Andy’s response was a shrug. Then several vicious-looking solo Savoy Kicks.

“Andy…”

Andy exhaled just as he was putting his hand onto Oscar’s back, right between Oscar’s shoulder blades. The sensation was strangely warming.

“I’m doing the best I can, all right?”

Oscar looked at his partner and smiled a bit. “Okay, Andy.”

* * *

  
The next week was waltz.

Oscar's discomfort began to grow for a number of reasons.

They were closer — much, much closer — than they’d ever been before. Ever.

And Andy seemed perfectly at ease with it, in his depressed way. Or at least Oscar thought Andy was still depressed...until Andy looked at him earnestly and said, “Thanks for coming with me, Oscar.”

Sincerity that was delivered without a glum expression.

Oscar was not at ease. He was not at ease with it at all.

The way Andy held his hand, gently and gracefully, while his warm breath tickled Oscar's neck...

They moved around the dance floor, and Oscar occasionally saw Miss Coco watching them, her hands clasped in a manner that reminded him of Kelly Kapoor.

Unfortunately.

At one point, Oscar found himself looking into Andy’s eyes and feeling a bit dazed, thinking of the English-language country music his dad listened to while he was growing up: _I was dancin’ with my darlin’ to the Tennessee Waltz..._

Then Oscar remembered that the song was actually about another man cutting in and stealing the “darlin’” away. That was an awkward reflection.

He saw Andy’s determined — but somewhat softened — expression, the way he occasionally looked at Oscar out of the corner of his eye.

Oscar said, “Andy, we really don’t need to come back here next week.”

Andy seemed to tighten his grip on Oscar’s hand ever so slightly. “Next week is salsa.”

“... Fine.”

* * *

  
At lunch a few days later, Oscar asked a livelier Andy (who had actually come over to get Oscar for lunch, and not the other way around), “Have you ever salsa danced?”

“Salsa is not a condiment native to the Simsbury School of Dance.”

“It’s great. I think you’ll like it.”

Andy looked at him, much longer than he had maintained eye contact in all the weeks they’d been lunching.

“Yeah, I think I might.” He tapped the table a few times with his yogurt spoon. “I think I might.”

Oscar could have sworn Andy was flirting.

Which was impossible. Because he was straight. And heartbroken.

* * *

  
They met on a Saturday for their final lesson. Oscar was surprised by what he saw.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I like your tie.”

Andy looked down. “It’s the only one I own that’s a solid color. Like the ones you wear.”

“Oh.”

They stood side by side, copied Miss Coco’s steps, listened to her emphasize how important “natural, organic hip movement is key. This is a dance where you learn your partner, be comfortable and intimate while staying a respectable distance from her... or him.”

She giggled after that.

Oscar did not. He found himself flushing and studiously studying his shoes.

They turned and Andy took his hand, put the other in the small of his back. Sort of like the first lesson, when they learned swing (of which Coco also reminded them by saying swing and salsa could be fused together; the verb “fused” also made Oscar uncomfortable, especially with Andy touching him the way he was).

As they started their basic steps together to the music, Andy said, “I used to get partner with a guy in class in high school. Because we were the best dancers. You know, we’d demonstrate what the other students should look like.”

Oscar tried to concentrate on meeting the downbeat as he nodded.

“His name was David. David Mallory. Of the Waterford Mallorys.”

Oscar relaxed a little. Okay, this was one of Andy’s Connecticut-and-Cornell stories, not...

“He touched my butt once. Actually, he was the first person to touch my butt. During the rumba, when the teacher and the girls weren’t looking.”

Okay. So he’d been wrong. Andy’s fingers pressed into his back. He felt strong and confident, and so it was a relief when Oscar slid away from him.

But he had to come back. And worst yet, he wanted to come back.

“We kissed. In the locker room. I never told anyone that. He was dating Ellen Adams. I think he married her.” Andy shrugged.

“Why are you telling me this?” The Tito Puente timbale solo was sounding louder and louder as Oscar spun Andy, and Andy returned.

“I don’t know. Maybe because I think we should make out in the coatroom after this?”

Oscar narrowed his eyes and ignored the percussive thrum of his pulse. “Are you doing this to get back at Angela?”

Andy thought for a minute, then moved his hand from Oscar’s shoulder quickly but gently down his entire arm. “No. Maybe a little. It’s just...dude, I haven’t really _kissed_ someone in, like, two years, and the last guy I was with was Broccoli Rabe in college and... ”

“Wait. _What?_ ”

“Well, you know. Spring break can get crazy. And bus trips to the national collegiate a capella finals. And... ”

“You _dated_ a _guy_ in college?”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘dated.’ Like, we didn’t hold hands and go to movies. Unless they were in the quad and it got really dark. Or it was _Animal House_ that one time in the campus theater.”

“So...”

“Yeah, mostly we just had sex.”

The song ended just as Oscar exclaimed, “Andy!”

Miss Coco was saying something about marvelous and intermediate steps next. As she turned her back to switch CDs, Andy caressed his elbow.

“You’re nice... you know, eventually, when you’re not being so uptight.”

“Hey.”

Andy continued, “And you smell good and your hair looks like it’d be nice to touch. And I’m not saying we have to have sex _right away_ …”

“Okay.”

It was Andy’s turn to pause, then say, “Wait. _What?_ ”

“Okay to the coatroom. Not to sex. It’s too soon. And I want to know if you’re telling the truth. About Angela. And about other guys.”

“Oh, I’m totally telling the truth. You’re the only person I mostly want to tell the truth to. It must be the power of the dance.”

Oscar suppressed a smile. “Are you quoting Rumi?”

“Dude, I told you: took Intro to Philosophy. Twice.”

Oscar would normally have rolled his eyes. But Andy _was_ good at dancing.

And the honesty thing was kind of a turn-on.

And the dancing. And the thing Andy’d done to his arm and elbow moments before.

And so they danced intermediate salsa. And he let Andy slide his hand below the small of his back for a moment before saying, “We’re not in the coatroom yet, Andy.”


End file.
